When he walked into the beautiful large walled garden of Francesca Lorne’s house in Chelsea, James had mixed emotions. Instantly happy to see Irina, he was also saddened that her aunt looked so tired and strained.
He went straight to Mrs. Lorne, bent over her chair, and kissed her on the cheek.
Looking up at him, Francesca Lorne clasped his hand. Her eyes were weary. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she murmured. “I’m so happy you could come to tea.”
“So am I,” he answered, his tone affectionate. He then went over to Irina, who was standing near the table set up for afternoon tea. She was wearing a fashionable coffee-colored day dress of the lightest silk. It showed her figure off to advantage, and suited her coloring beautifully. She and her sister were always beautifully turned out, their Russian ancestry giving their style a touch of the exotic.
They greeted each other, and she said in a low voice, “I’ve really missed you.”
“Me too,” he answered.
Turning, he returned to the chair next to her aunt and sat down. Francesca got straight to the point. “I know Irina and Natalie have spoken to you about my situation—my husband’s decision to leave me—and I want you to know I’m determined to get over it. I’m not a sissy. And I will avoid a scandal.”
James reached out, took hold of her hand. “I am quite certain you will. You’re a strong woman, and whilst I am surprised he would do this in a bad way, apparently Irina and Natalie are not. They seem to think he is capable of anything.”
Francesca smiled for the first time in days, and nodded. Suddenly there was a lighter expression on her face. “They’re correct. I think I would even add murder to the list. He’s a real rascal. I should’ve known he would depart one day. Greener fields and all that.”
Irina had poured the tea and brought two cups over to her aunt and James, then returned to the table and carried over two plates of tea sandwiches. After they thanked her, she went to fetch her own.
Settling down next to them, Irina explained, “My aunt’s husband is an opportunist, James, and he’s been involved for quite a long time with a married woman. Now she is suddenly a widow. Her elderly husband conveniently died. He left her rather rich.”
“To my way of thinking, a man like that is best gone and forgotten,” he said to Francesca, then glanced at Irina. “Don’t you agree?”
“I do, very much so. But to be fair to Aunt Cheska, it does hurt a bit to be abandoned in such a nasty way.”
Francesca raised her hand. “Let’s let him drop. Once I feel better we shall go abroad to somewhere really nice, travel and have a good time and enjoy ourselves. Get away from London until the chatter dies down.”
“You must get better first, Aunt Cheska, recover your strength,” Irina murmured, and stood up, went to the tea table to avoid looking at James, whom she knew would be surprised by her aunt’s sudden announcement.
Irina placed small cakes on a plate and fiddled at the table as she heard James say to her aunt, “And where will you be going? Do you know yet?”
“I am considering going to see Olga in Russia. Her sister, Irina and Natalie’s mother, is married to my brother. She’s my longest friend.” Francesca laughed. “It was I who brought the Shuvalov girls into the Parkinson family.”
Aware there was no way she could now avoid telling James she was going with her aunt, Irina went and sat down next to him. “Aunt Cheska is thinking about taking that trip, James, and she wants me to go with her.”
James turned to find her expressive dark eyes studying him. Although he was startled, he realized this was not the place to show it. He had no idea what Irina had told her aunt about them. And so he said quietly, “I think a change is as good as a rest, at least so my grandmother says.”
“Why don’t you come with us, James?” Francesca said, looking at him intently. “I invite you to be my guest. You would enjoy Saint Petersburg.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Lorne, but I’m afraid I have to see my project through. I can’t leave it all to your niece. We have to be in Hull.”
Francesca stared at him and nodded, realizing Natalie would not agree to go either. She was diligent and would not neglect her work.
After tea and a lot of conversation about things in general, Francesca excused herself and went into the house. Irina accompanied her, helped her to get undressed and into bed. Her aunt now rested for a while every afternoon; it seemed to be helping her to overcome her sorrow at this turn of events.
When Irina returned to the garden, she found James wandering around, admiring the flower beds and fruit trees. “Your aunt did a really exquisite job here, didn’t she?” he said, as she joined him. “She’s a talented gardener.”
Irina nodded, realizing at once that he wasn’t angry. His face was relaxed and there was a smile in his eyes. She took hold of his hand, led him to a wrought-iron bench at the bottom of the garden.
As they sat down, she said, “I want to explain something. My aunt only told me a short while before you arrived that she wanted to go and stay with Aunt Olga. I had no idea she would wish to go so far away and needed me to accompany her.”
“I guessed as much,” James answered quickly, wishing to reassure her.
“If you could come, it would be so lovely,” Irina murmured.
He released her hand. “No, it’s impossible, I’m not a man of leisure with a private income. I have to work. I hope you do understand that, Irina.”
“I do, yes, and I’m sure my aunt does as well. Hull has to come first.”
“When do you think you’ll leave London?” he now asked.
Irina shook her head. “I’m not sure. Certain things have to be arranged. Probably next week.”
“Oh! So soon?”
“Yes, but I hope to see you before I leave.”
“So do I, my sweet girl.” He looked into her face, and with a faint smile he asked, “How long will you be gone?”
“Oh, not long at all, I shall take my aunt there, get her settled, and then return to London.”
“You can’t travel back alone, that’s not safe. It’s quite a journey.”
“Oh yes, I know. My aunt has already discussed that. If she wishes to stay on with Aunt Olga, my father will come and get me. He’ll agree to that, I can assure you.”
James nodded, took out his pocket watch. “I’m afraid it’s getting late. I have to leave to meet my uncle George.”
Irina laughed. “So he’s back from Scotland.”
“Oh yes, I’m having supper with him and his friend Inspector Crawford. Nice chap.”
“When are you going to Hull?”
“Tomorrow, I’m afraid. So I won’t be able to see you until next week.”
Irina nodded, leaned into him, and put an arm around his shoulders. “I do care about you, James. I’m so sorry all this has suddenly happened.”
He held her to him, kissed her cheek. “It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. But life does get in the way sometimes, doesn’t it?”
James and Uncle George took a hansom cab down to the East End, heading for Chinatown in Limehouse. As they sat together on the same seat, George said, “I love it down in Limehouse, wonderful part of London. Nowhere like it in the world.”
“You know, I’ve never been to the East End. I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
“I wish I’d thought to bring you here, especially now you’ve grown up.”
“That sounds odd, Uncle George. Why didn’t you bring me? You took me to other places sometimes, you and Uncle Harry. And why now when I’m grown up?”
“It’s an odd place, a mixture of things, some good, some bad. But tonight, after dinner, we’ll go for a stroll. Crawford knows it inside out. He used to be a copper on the beat down here, and everyone knows him. We’re safe when he’s around.”
“Is it dangerous in Limehouse?” James asked, his curiosity aroused.
“‘Iffy’ is the way I’d put it. But the good things about it far outweigh the bad.”
After that comment George glanced out of the window and was silent for the rest of the journey.
James, knowing his uncle and the habit he had for falling silent for long periods, remained quiet in his corner of the seat, thinking about Irina. He couldn’t help feeling disappointed that she was disappearing abroad so soon into their new friendship.
Eventually they had gone through Whitechapel and into Limehouse, where the hansom suddenly came to a stop. The two men jumped out, and George paid the driver, giving him a generous tip.
Surprised, the driver touched his flat cap, exclaimed, “Thanks, guv, ’ave a helluva night. A flingawindin!”
James laughed as he and his uncle walked toward the restaurant. “I’ve never heard that expression.”
George laughed with his nephew. “Neither have I. Maybe it’s local slang.”
“Or the driver’s invention. I don’t think we can call it Cockney, can we?” James asked.
“I don’t believe so.”
“Oh, look, isn’t that the restaurant?” James exclaimed, pointing to Wu Liang Palace straight ahead.
“It is,” his uncle replied.
The two men increased their pace and, within seconds, they were entering the Chinese restaurant, where they spotted Crawford immediately. He stood up, came to meet them, a huge smile on his face.
After greetings were exchanged, the inspector led them down to the back. It was a colorful place, decorated with Chinese lanterns, a great number of small candles, and paintings of Chinese women on the walls.
“This is my usual table,” Crawford said. “Welcome to Chinatown.”
After ordering the special drinks of the house, which Crawford explained were basically a mixture of rice wines, he leaned toward James, who was sitting opposite him. “I have some interesting news for you. I think we’ve something to celebrate. Inasmuch as I’ve managed to solve a mystery at last.”
“Is this about me?” James asked. “About the attack in Soho?”
“In a sense, but it’s also about the attack on you some three years ago. On Chalk Farm Road.”
On hearing this, James shrank back slightly, and his face turned pale. “When Denny died,” he murmured, his voice low.
Before the inspector could answer, George interrupted. “Don’t tell me you’ve discovered who did it at long last?”
“I have.” Crawford paused when the Chinese waiter came to a stop at their table, served the small glasses of rice wines, bowed, and departed as Crawford was thanking him. Lifting his glass, he said, “Cheers,” and they all clinked their glasses and sipped their wine.
The inspector continued, “I will explain everything before we order the food. If that’s all right.”
“Tell us what you found out!” George exclaimed. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“I’ll endeavor to make it short and sweet.” He addressed James. “When you and Keller were attacked in Soho recently, I became quite vexed, remembering the other attack, which I realized had become a cold case. So I dug into it, soon realized that Milly Culpepper was the only link I had. So I set out to find her. I thought the best bet was to go and ask her mother where she was. I did. And there I found her in living color. Miss Milly Culpepper, at her mother’s house.”
Speaking in a quiet voice, and telling the rest of the story carefully and precisely, Crawford filled in James and his uncle George.
Neither of them spoke until the inspector told them why the attack had occurred and who the perpetrator was.
“I can’t believe it!” James cried. “Paiseley had us beaten up because his father went to jail for savaging his mother? His mother who died because of her abusive husband. And he hired bruisers to punish us!”
“Can he be tried for murder?” George asked swiftly on the heels of his nephew. “Dennis Holden died of his injuries.”
“I hope so. I pulled Sergeant Mick Owen into the case when I reopened it recently and met with him several times. He got a warrant and Patrick Paiseley was arrested last night.”
There was a silence at the table for a few minutes. It was James who broke it when he said, “I will never forget Sergeant Owen’s kindness. He and Constable Roy waited at the hospital all night until I came out of my concussion. We were all impressed by that, weren’t we, Uncle George?”
“We were, and touched by the way they cared.” George took a sip of wine. “But why didn’t they solve it at the time?”
“I asked Owen the same thing. They grilled Milly quite a few times. But she kept saying none of the customers had asked about Denny or James. And they kept referring to customers. I asked her if anybody had asked about the boys, and she remembered about her friend Sadie. Also, I believe she was more than likely terrified at the time of the attack, and extremely upset.”
The inspector paused, took a swig of the rice wine, and finished, “According to Sergeant Owen, she was very, very nervous, hysterical, and on the edge of collapse back then. They didn’t want to be accused of police brutality or anything like that.”
George nodded. “Especially because she was a young girl. I understand that, why they backed off—” He stopped, shook his head sadly, then let out a long sigh. “And she hadn’t witnessed the attack. She was only working at the bar.”
James said, “At least you solved it, Inspector, and thank you for the work you’ve done now. So I suppose I was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. Is that how you would explain the attack on me?”
“Sadly, it is, in the absence of anything else,” Crawford replied. “And thank God you survived.”
“And so the attack in Soho is not connected?” George asked.
“No, it’s not.” Crawford shook his head. “Not unless someone is out to get you. And you don’t seem to have any enemies. I think it was a couple of petty thieves spotting two likely rich boys, with money in their pockets, watches, and rings. The good thing is they are in jail. Thanks to you and Keller.”
James said nothing. He couldn’t deny the attack had shaken him. London had always been his home but suddenly it seemed a stranger, more dangerous place.
“It’s good to know that James isn’t a target,” his uncle remarked. “And I thank you, too, Crawford. From the bottom of my heart.”